Dreams of Imperfection
by xlovexcoffeexandxrocknrollx
Summary: Kat Hayden has moved from the city to a small house on Privet Drive. Soon she finds out that it isn't as bad as she thought it would be, especially after she meets the hot criminal from across the street.
1. New Neighbors

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, this would not be a fanfiction.

**Author's Note:** Okay, So, this may seem like it's only in my OC's point of view, butother character's views_will_ be in this fic, so don't bite my head off or anything. Oh, and please review and tell me what you think.

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Number 3 Privet Drive; Little Whinging, Surrey. Great name for a city, don't you think? We just moved to this excuse of a town a few days ago. On Sunday, to be exact. Sunday, May 28. The official worst day of my life.

Mom was crabby (she's pregnant with my third sister (fourth sibling), so I guess she has a reason), Dad was being a total jerk (he has no reason, he's always like that), and Claire, Jane, and Joey were whining about the craziest things imaginable.

_Mommy! I want this! Mommy! I want that! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! _

Good Lord. If I hear them whine one more time—

"Mommy! I hungy, Mommy! I hungy!"

Ugh! I'm going to strangle that kid some day!

'That kid' would be my youngest sibling, and only brother; Joey. He's two, and just learned to speak in full sentences. Oh, joy. I swear, he's the whiniest of them all. But, no matter how hard you try, you just can't hate the little guy. He's just _so_ cute! You see, he's got these big, bright green eyes (I'm a sucker for green eyes) and this curly mop of blonde hair, and when he looks at you when he wants something, you just have to melt.

I hate it.

"Mama! Mama! I'm hungry too! I want macaroni and cheese, Mama!"

That would be the voice of Jane, my youngest sister (well, at least the youngest one who is already living). She's five. Going to start kindergarten this year. In fact, she almost never shuts up about her stupid kindergarten class. She's not nearly as cute as Joey, with plain brown eyes and plain brown hair, but still is probably going to end up more attractive than me.

I hate how I look. My hideous earthy-brown hair is always too shiny­—like I wash my hair in vegetable oil or something. My eyes are this golden-brown color. I think they look like poop, to put it bluntly. Everyone says I'm pretty, and I'm sick of them trying to boost my self-esteem. I'm really not pretty at all and I know it. I was born a piece of crap and will stay a piece of crap until the day that I die.

"Now, sweetheart, can't you just wait one minute until Mommy gets the groceries put away?"

And that would be my mother. By far the prettiest woman ever to grace the earth.

I hate it.

All of my former boyfriends (yeah, all two of them) would only talk to me about how _hott _(yeah, that's right, hot with _two_ T's people. TWO!) my mother is. Let me ask you something, did they want to make me barf? I honestly don't want to hear about my _boyfriend_ liking my mom!

I mean, yeah, she's pretty, but looks aren't everything, right? Her dark, nearly-black hair is always perfect, like it's a wig. But I know it's not. Because when I was a kid I used to pull on it all the time and it never came off. And then she has the same eyes as Joey. Stupid Mom.

Hey, I love her though. She's by far the nicest parent. My dad's freaking psycho.

"Katherine Angela! Get down here and help your mother and me with the groceries."

And that would be him now. I don't even know why Mom married him. To put it simply, he's ugly. He has graying hair that used to be an ugly shade of blonde (Lord only knows where Joey got his good color), and he's all pale and his eyes are this ugly gray color. Not to mention he's a total a—

"Yeah Kat! Come help us with the groceries!"

Suck up. Ugh! Out of all of my siblings, she would be the first that I would strangle. Claire. Perfect little angelic Claire. Makes me want to throw up. Good Lord. Why can't my parents just see her for the manipulative little demon that she is. When she grows up, I bet she's going to be a lawyer.

She's only seven, but honestly, I don't care how old she is. Nobody likes a brownnoser. Well, except my parents apparently. They are practically in love with the little brat. You see, she's the 'perfect' one of the family. She's got mom's hair and eyes, and she's skinny, and pretty and smart and good at everything she does and blahdi blah blah blah. Who cares? That really isn't everything. Especially when it comes to her. She's a spoiled brat and will whine and whine until she gets her way. And they tell me to act my age?

"Katherine? Could you please help unload the car? I could really use another pair of hands down here!"

I sighed and stood from my desk that overlooked the street. I was stuck with the smallest room of the house—lucky me. At least I didn't have to share. Claire and Jane had the big room; the one across the hall, and Joey got his own room (at least, until the new baby comes) next door to my mom and dad's room.

Photographs of random things and places were strewn across my desk haphazardly (wow, I didn't even know I knew that word) and I picked them up hurriedly. I had been working on my collage for my portfolio. I want to be a photographer when I graduate, if you hadn't guessed. Probably just for a photo shop or something. I would love to work for a magazine or something though. That would be amazing.

"KATHERINE!" my dad had his angry voice on. I had better get going.

"Coming!" I yelled, quickly pulling on my sneakers and running down the stairs. On the way, I almost tripped on one of Jane's toys that she had already pulled out of one of the boxes that were still piled in the living room.

I yelped, clutching my foot; which made my baby brother start crying from the noise; which made my mom yell at me for making him cry; which made my dad yell at me for making my mom strain herself to yell at me; which made me storm outside to the open trunk of the car, mumbling about my stupid family.

The commotion had apparently alerted the neighbors from across the street who were working in their lawn. That totally surprised me. The lady was so pale that it looked like she hadn't seen a day of sun in her life, and the man, well, let's just say that I was shocked he was able to walk.

Both of them glared at me as I pulled two grocery bags from the trunk and headed back inside. "Weirdos…"

"What was that, darling?" my mother asked as I entered the kitchen. She was holding Joey and bouncing him up and down like most moms do to cheer little kids up. Joey was laughing happily and clapping his hands.

I sighed and plastered my fake smile on my face for my mother. "Nothing, Ma. Just saw the neighbors from across the street. That's all," I told her, reaching out to take my younger brother as she handed him to me.

"Oh! Wonderful!" she exclaimed and clapped her hands together. "We should go out and say hello! I've felt like a hermit since we've gotten here." She moved gracefully from the kitchen to fetch her shoes from the hall closet, motioning for me to follow.

I sighed again (seems like I've been doing that a lot lately) and pushed Joey up on my hip, following my pregnant mother across the street to the owners of Number 4 Privet Drive.

"Hello," she greeted the neighbors as they watched her with weary eyes from across the row of hedges. "I'm Cyndi Hayden. We just moved into the house across the street." She held out a hand for them to shake.

The big man came forward immediately and grasped her hand with his own. "Vernon Dursley," he said, shaking my mom's hand ferociously.

Mom looked a little uneasy while she tried to wrench her hand away. Normally it would have made me laugh, but I didn't think it would be appropriate at the time.

She smiled, flashing her pearly whites at our new neighbors. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Dursley, Mrs. Dursley," she kept smiling as she spoke. I didn't know how she did it. "And these are two of my children. This is Kat and the little one is Joey."

Oh great. She had introduced us. Now I _had_ to join the conversation. Thanks Mom. Thanks a lot.

Reluctantly, I moved forward to greet the odd couple. I guess I really shouldn't say that, but I can't think of any way to describe them. I mean, come on; the fat guy (excuse me; Mr. Dursley) had to weigh a ton and his wife was probably anorexic. Great. I can't wait to meet their children. Though I doubt someone that thin could sustain two lives instead of one.

So, anyway; Mom went on to chat with Mr. and Mrs. Dursley about random things like the weather and what was on the news last night, while I looked around the neighborhood for something to relieve me from my boredom.

Well speak of the devil, three girls about my age came walking out of a house a few doors down the street. They were amazingly skinny and tall. Like models.

My Lord, does every girl here have to have the perfect shape? It's so not fair!

I was silently wishing that they wouldn't spot me. Unfortunately, without magic, most wishes don't come true.

Damn.

The three tall, skinny girls did see me. In fact, they seemed so excited about another teenage girl being around, that they ran over to our little group; their hair bouncing wildly.

They stopped right next to me and smiled down. Okay, not to rag on tall people or anything, but I am so sick of this midget stuff. I am _not_ a midget, so stop looking at me like I am! I'm just short is all. Stupid people.

Okay, anyway. They all looked down at me at the same time and smiled. You guessed it. They had perfect teeth too. Just like Mom. Great.

"Hi! I'm Sarah," said the one with curly blonde hair. "You must be the new neighbors." She held out her hand for me to shake, which I did after shifting Joey to my other hip.

"Oh! Sarah! Carrie! Kate! I'm so glad you came over!" Mrs. Dursley exclaimed upon noticing the three other girls. "Ladies, this is Kat. She's just moved here with her family from London. Isn't that lovely?" The three girls nodded toward the thin woman. "Why don't you take her to meet some other people? I'm sure she's been lonely after being cooped up in that house for a week."

Uh. . . nope, not really Mrs. Dursley.

"What a great idea!" Sarah shouted, clapping her hands together in front of her lips. She looked toward me. "If that's alright with Kat, anyway."

I turned toward my mother, who nodded sternly. Great. New friends. Mom took Joey from my arms and ushered me to follow the other girls saying, "Go on! Have fun!"

I sighed and followed. This is going to be a long summer.

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Questions? Comments? If so, click the little review box in the lower left hand corner. 


	2. An Axe Murderer?

You know how people are always saying that first impressions are usually wrong and that you really shouldn't judge on them? Well, I hope to God that those people are right, because Sarah, Carrie, and Kate are the three most stuck up, brattiest, self absorbed girls that I have ever met. Well, at least that's my first impression of them.

Sarah is basically "Daddy's Little Princess". She gets everything she wants, no matter how much it costs. You see, her dad works for this oil company or something- he's apparently one of the owners, so they have enough money for pretty much anything. The only reason they haven't moved from Privet Drive to a bigger house, is because they already have three other homes- one in Paris, one in New York, and one in Tokyo. Sarah stays here through the year while her family goes to the other houses so that she can be with her friends. I admire the girl's devotion to her friends, but honestly, I would rather be in Paris.

Carrie's pretty much drama on steroids. Seriously. Everything's a big deal for her. She gets a B on a test; she's going to die. She loses an earring; she's going to die. Her daddy comes home 2 seconds later than normal; she's going to die. Okay, well maybe not that bad, but she does go over top a lot. Not to mention that she's also uber-smart, not necessarily logical, but smart nonetheless.

Kate reminds me of one of those old ladies who sits in a shop drinking tea all day and gossiping with her old lady friends- except that none of us are particularly old and I don't think she really likes tea all that much. But, anyway, you can almost never get her to shut up about anything. I mean, I found out stuff about half the neighborhood- and I don't even know them!

For instance, about thirty minutes ago, she was telling me who to stay away from around here. Apparently, there's this guy who lives with the Dursleys. He's not their son or anything (I think they said he was their nephew), but he stays there anyway. I think she said his parents died in a car crash when he was a baby or something. I don't remember. Well, anyway, this guy, Harry, attends some school for "criminal boys". Oh joy. I live on a street with some maniacal axe murderer.

Okay, so he's probably not an axe murderer, but I just felt like pulling a Carrie for a minute there.

While they were catching me up on all of this great information about the people I live by, a group of five or six guys comes walking down the middle of the road. The one in the front has to be at least 100 pounds heavier than Mr. Dursley, and his face was red as he walked up to the four of us.

Great. More lovely suburban company.

Note the sarcasm.

They walked straight up to us, and started talking with the other girls as if they were hoars or something. I thought of joining in for a minute. . . and then I saw the three other girls practically seducing the guys right in the middle of the street. I'm sorry but I have more self-respect than that.

So, basically, for about ten minutes I was stuck to entertain myself by seeing which house could have had little children in it (Numbers 2, 3, 6, 8, 9 and 11 all had small children's toys) , or picking out which houses had the greenest grass (Number 7 and Number 12). Finally, this guy in the back with champagne blonde hair and bright blue eyes noticed me standing all alone and awkward in my little space. He walked forward a bit and nudged the big one in the side. "Hey, D, there's a new girl here," he whispered quite loudly into the other teen's ear.

The pink-faced boy looked up from down Sarah's shirt (PERVERT!) and stared at me. He got one of those 'cool' looks on his face (You know, like from the 50s when the guys would raise one eyebrow, nod their head slightly, and smirk or something? Yeah, that kind of look.) and pushed between Sarah and Carrie so that he was directly in front of me.

"Hey," he said simply, still shaking his head up and down.

'_Oh my God. If he doesn't stop doing that I'm going to cut his head off.'_

"Uh. . . hi. . ."

He smirked, looking me up and down. "Name's Dudley Dursley. What's yours?" he asked, stepping closer to me and making me feel uncomfortable.

I backed up a few steps. This guy was really freaking me out. "I'm Kat," I responded, eyeing Dudley in disgust. "Sorry, but we have to go, right?" I looked toward Carrie, Kate, and Sarah; waiting for them to respond.

They looked at me as if I was crazy.

Yeah. Thanks guys.

I sighed. "Yeah, we have to go," I said; reinforcing my position before walking away from the small circle of teenagers, praying that my only friends would follow me.

They did.

Thank the Lord.

Unfortunately, they started berating me as soon as we were out of earshot of the guys.

"Kat!" Sarah practically screamed at me. "What are you thinking? They're some of the best guys around here!"

I turned to glare at the tall blonde girl. "If those are some of the best guys around here, I don't even want to meet the others," I snapped, slightly harsher than I had meant the words to come out.

"Oh come on, Kat!" Carrie exclaimed. "Why are you so mad about it? He was practically falling all over you! If I were you I wouldn't be complaining."

"Well, I'm sorry but I have more self-respect than that," I snapped again. Wow, I was really being a brat. "I don't particularly want to be fawned over by some idiotic womanizing pig!"

I stormed away from them in disgust. How could they expect me to go along with that? I'm not some kind of cheap slut! Who do they think they are anyway? Ugh! I want to go back to the city! At least there I wasn't treated like I should be a whore!

Ugh.

Okay, so maybe I was overreacting a bit, but come on! I want to keep my dignity, thank you!

Apparently, I was so upset that my feet were leading me pretty much where ever they wanted to go. This, at the moment, was a deserted park. Pretty weird for 3 in the afternoon, eh?

And then I saw why no one was there. . .

All but one of the swings were torn down, the slide was tipped over, and the sandbox was now more of a sand-mound-of-crap. If I had to give one guess as to who had done this, my first would have been, well, probably that Harry boy (or whatever his name was) that went to the criminal school. . . that is, if he really was as bad as Kate described him. Which I doubt.

So, anyway. My feet had decided to get all tired on me, so I decided to sit on the last swing left in the playground. Wouldn't that make a great picture? It would be kind of depressing. Probably good in black and white. You know, a girl sitting on a swing, everything around her is broken. Yeah, so anyway. . .

I don't know how long I sat there. My guess would be a good thirty minutes at least, because when I finally snapped out of my thoughts, the sun was setting and the streetlamps had just flickered to life. Oh joy. I get to walk home alone to the house across the street from a juvenile delinquent. Fun fun.

Not.

I got up from the swing and jumped the low fence surrounding the park. As I walked down the dim street, I could still hear the creaking of the swing I had just left in the cool calm of the young night. For a while, I felt like something out of a horror movie. Those American ones from the '80s. You know, like Freddy Krueger or something. But once I let myself get used to it for a minute, I discovered that walking at night is actually pretty nice. I mean, it's a perfect time to just think about things. Which, aside from photography, is one of my favorite things to do. Plus, it seems like you're alone, which is nice when you just pretty much blew up all the relationships you had made in the past week.

So, I just walked for a while. Mom was probably going to kill me as soon as I got home because I didn't call, but oh well. I had my cell phone if she was really desperate.

The park was about ten minutes away from Privet Drive. And for about six of those ten minutes, I was lost in my own little world and not paying attention to see if there was anything ahead of me.

Unfortunately, there was.

When I was about 4 minutes away from home, I ran into something. Well, it was a _someone_ really, but I couldn't tell all that well in the dark.

I was pushed backwards (partly from being jolted out of my thoughts and partly from the fact that I had just ran into a random object/person) and fell to the ground (yes, it _did_ hurt). There was a loud smack as my bare arms hit the pavement, and a following clang as the person I had ran into fell into stumbled backwards into the lamppost.

Oops.

I leaned forward, holding myself up with my hands, to get a good look at the person who was standing in front of me and rubbing their head (which had been the thing that hit the lamppost). He had dark hair, light skin, and glasses. It seemed like he was pretty tall, then again, maybe I'm just short. He was also pretty skinny, like one of those emo guys you always see at Coldplay concerts.

That, unfortunately, is all I could tell in the flickering light of the lamp above us. He turned, hand still on the back of his head, and held out a hand to me, smiling. "Sorry about that, I guess I wasn't watching where I was going," he said in his thick British accent.

I would have totally swooned if I was the swooning type. But I'm not.

Now you may ask, "Okay, Kat. You're from the UK, shouldn't you be used to that accent?"

And I have an answer.

Yes. I am.

I just don't show it. For some odd reason, I have always loved my voice, and the accents of the people around me. Weird, huh? You'd think I'd want to talk like an American or something since I'm from London.

Right, back to the mystery guy.

I accepted his outstretched hand and he pulled me up with ease. Wow, he must play rugby or football or something, because he's pretty strong for such a skinny guy.

"Are you alright?" he asked, putting his hands on my shoulders and looking down at me.

I looked up at him.

He has green eyes.

Beautiful green eyes.

Wow.

"Y-yeah," I answered dazedly.

Green eyes.

Oh my gosh.

Green eyes.

I thought I was going to faint.

He smiled at me and took his hands off my shoulders. "It's nice to meet you," he said, holding out one of his hands for me to shake. "I'm Harry Potter."

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Soooo. What do you think? I think I like this story more than my other one, but, hey, that's just me. So, let me know. 


	3. Death Threats

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, and I don't expect to.

**Note:**

---- means that the POV changes to either Harry's or Kat's perspective

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"Hi, I'm Harry Potter." 

The words rang through my ears about a million and one times before I actually caught hold of what he had said.

_"I'm Harry Potter."_

And even though he had, quite possibly the most amazingly wonderful voice that I had heard in my entire life. . . that boy scared my pants off.

_Harry Potter._

The weirdo axe murderer from Number 4.

Oh dear Lord, I was going to _die_!

But Lord, his eyes were pretty. And he was staring right at me! And then my brain kicked back into gear a bit. _'Wait. . . my eyes are up here! PERVERT!'_ That sicko was trying to get a free show. _'So he's an axe murderer AND a perv!'_

He opened his mouth to say something, and something in my brain told me to stay and hear that wonderful voice one more time. However, the rest of my brain was saying _'Kat! Don't be stupid! He'll kill you! Or worse. . . RAPE you! RUN!' _Why, in my mind, rape is worse than death, I'll never know, but anyway; since more of my brain was saying that than _'Good Lord is he hot,' _and since I am most definitely not the bravest girl in the world, I did the only thing that came to my frantic mind at the moment.

I turned and I ran.

I ran as fast as I could back to my house; looking back every few paces to make sure he wasn't following me.

He wasn't.

Oh thank the Lord.

----

"Hi, I'm Harry Potter," I said, reaching out to shake the girl's hand.

She glanced at my hand, and her eyes went wide. I could practically see the fear radiating off of her.

Her eyes were brown. Not a particularly pretty brown. . . but I'm not saying she was ugly either! She wasn't! Seriously! I mean it!

I mean, she was no Cho Chang, but there was still just something about her that would have made me notice her in a crowd rather than some other supermodel-looking girl. It was a bit odd, but I didn't mind.

She had this amazing brown hair that I just wanted to reach down and run my fingers through, but I decided against it because that would probably scare the bloody hell out of her. Not that she wasn't already scared, though I've mentioned that, haven't I? Well, she was wearing this grey tank top (a Led Zeppelin logo was on the front) and if I tilted my head a bit to the side I could almost get a good vie­­ uh. . . nevermind. That's not really important right now.

So, when I had stopped. . . uh. . . noticing her aspects. . . I looked her in the eye and said, "So you must be our new neighbors."

Or at least I would have, had she not turned and bolted straight down the street.

Bloody hell! Why are girls so bloody confusing!

----

I slammed the door and ran up to my room.

Well, I guess I didn't really _slam_ the door, per say. I kind of shut it forcibly, but quietly at the same time so I wouldn't wake anyone up. . . If that makes any sense. . . At all. . .

Anyways. . .

So, I went up to my room (which I had finally finished decorating, by the way), flopped onto my bed, and stared at an old watermark on the ceiling.

I sighed exhaustedly and all at once a million thoughts rushed into my weary brain: _'Who was this guy really?' 'He was pretty attractive.' 'He doesn't look like an axe murderer.' 'Oh, his eyes. . .' 'He kind of looks familiar.' 'He was wearing glasses.' 'I don't think he was all that dangerous, really.' 'I like glasses.' 'He was actually pretty nice.' 'And hot.' 'Was everyone else lying to me?'_

So, there I was, burnt out and utterly confused when Dad decides to drop by my room for a little chat. Now, if you haven't guessed yet, I don't have the best relationship with my dad. To put it simply; we hate each other. Well, I mean, I try not to, but he's just one of those types of people, you know? The type of person that, no matter how hard you try, you just can't seem to not hate them.

Sure, it makes me sad sometimes, because when I was growing up, all of my friends would go on all these trips and to all these dances with their dads, and I never went to a single one.

I remember this one time, I was about six or seven, and there was one of those father-daughter dances that everyone loves so much. Now, this was when we lived back in the States. See, my dad's family is from Britain and my mom is actually from New York, but when her parents died, we moved over here. Well, anyway, back to the dance. So, my mom used to _love _going to these types of things with her father when she was little. I mean, this is practically what she lived for. Well, not really, but I guess it really meant a lot to her.

So, she convinced my dad (who's hair was actually brighter back then) to take me to one of them so I could see all of my friends and he could talk to the other dads and he and I could just get to know each other better, you know? Well, my dad can hardly ever say no to my mom, so he took me.

The whole time we were there, he refused to have anything to do with me. It was like he was ashamed to have me as his daughter or something.

I guess that was really the day I realized that I hated my father.

So, fast forward about ten years to a few paragraphs ago. My dad had just walked into the room (heck, I had just noticed he was there) and I stood to greet him and ask him what gave him the right to just barge into my room at midnight when he stormed up to me and slapped me across the face.

Now, I had never been slapped by my dad before. I guess that could be because I was always around Mom when he was there, but still, it scared me.

Falling back onto my bed and holding my stinging cheek, I glared up at my father. "What the Hell did you do that for?" I yelled.

He roughly pushed his hand over my mouth to quiet me so I wouldn't wake the others. "How dare you!" he yelled, flecks of spit hitting my face. "You worthless whore! I knew we should have sent you off to boarding school when we had the chance!"

Isn't it odd how he doesn't seem to care who wakes up to hear this. It's like he put a spell or something on the other's rooms so they couldn't hear them. Ha! Wouldn't that be great? I wish magic was real. Then I could just turn him into a toad and throw the thing out in front of a truck or something.

I glared at the balding man and harshly pushed his hand from my chapped lips. "What the Hell are you talking about? What did I do this time?" I whispered coldly back to him; glaring into his pale grey eyes.

He backed away slightly and glared down at me. "Don't act like you don't know," he growled. "I saw you out with that. . . that _boy_. . . tonight." He glared at me again, as if he wanted me to know the extent of his anger. "I know you know who he is. I know you've found the documents. I know you're working for. . . _them_. . ."

Alright, so if you thought I was confused _before_ my dad came in, just imagine how I'm feeling now. He walks into my room, in the middle of the night, basically tells me that he's been _spying _on me and then blames me for some random crap that I've never even heard of.

Yeah, now do you get it?

I was pretty damn confused.

Not to mention angry.

I mean, wouldn't you be if your dad had been spying on you _and_ starts rambling about random crap.

Well, you'll never guess what happens next.

"You tell anyone about _anything_ you know, and I swear to God, Katherine, I will not hesitate to slit your throat in your sleep," he threatened before striding to the door. "And if you tell anyone about what happened tonight, not only will I kill you, but your whole damn family can go to Hell with you."

He glared one last time at me before turning sharply on his heal and storming from the room, careful not to make a loud noise as he shut the door.

"Huh?"

Tears start to well up in my eyes as I walk slowly over to the window and pull back the curtains to look out. It was really a beautiful night, but what had just happened made me think everything was ugly.

A light in the room across the street from mine caught my eye. Staring back at me was the boy from earlier; Harry Potter. It seemed like his face showed concern for me. Then again it _was_ dark and I _was_ crying, so I guess I could have been seeing things. Yeah, that was probably it.

I cupped my cheek again, the stinging had gone but it was starting to swell.

This was going to be a fun one to explain to Mom in the morning.

----

I got back to the Dursley's at about midnight. Luckily, all three of them had recently taken to not even bothering to notice that I was there, so didn't pay attention to when I left and came back. I could be out getting pissed all night and they wouldn't care if I came back or not. Oh well, another month and I'll be out of here forever.

Noises came from the house across the street, and I assumed it was the brown-haired girl and her parents getting into a row about how late she came in.

Just for once, I wish I could have someone who actually cared enough about me to yell at me for getting in late.

The light is on in one of the windows. I'm assuming it's Her room because it seems like that's where the yelling is coming from. I can see their silhouettes against the curtains hanging in the window. The taller person just slapped Her. _'Help her!'_ was automatically the first thought that came to mind; and I was about to, too. I was going to go over there and teach that piss head not to slap pretty girls.

I sighed and flopped into my desk chair, staring at the illuminated room across the street.

The taller person had left the room now, and the brown-haired girl opened the curtains. She had a red mark on her cheek from where the other person had slapped her. It must have hurt loads for me to be able to see it from across the street.

After a moment, she noticed that I was staring and we locked eyes.

Right then, I only noticed one thing; she was crying.

* * *

Wow. Sorry that this took me so long to get out. A lot of crazy things have been going on lately, but thanks for everyone's patience. I really appreciate it. 

Lindley


	4. Good Morning, Starshine

**Disclaimer-** I do not own the Harry Potter series or anything that has to do with it.

**A/N-** Wow, this took a long time! Sorry! And this one is pretty short. Almost annoyingly so. But I'm pretty happy with it, and I figured you guys have been waiting long enough. I'll get started on the next chapter as soon as I can, but I'm not going to give myself a deadline because I am/have been extreamly busy and won't get around to writing too often. For the reasons why see my profile. Enjoy!

* * *

I couldn't sleep that night.

The things Dad had said to me kept running around in my brain. He had acted like I had betrayed him or something, and _apparently_ I was working for "them".

Even though I didn't know who the hell "they" were.

So, yeah, it would only make sense that I was for "them".

Psssh. Come on.

I mean, couldn't he have been a little bit more vague? 'Cause "they" is way to specific. "They" will probably get angry now and nuke the house or something, I mean, if the people who work for "them" can't even know who "they" are, it must be pretty damn bad if "their" _enemy_ knows who "they" are.

I know I know, Dad never specifically said he was "their" enemy, but I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that he is. . . mainly because I'm pretty sure everyone he's ever met considers him an enemy (except Mom, but I'm pretty sure she was drunk or something when they got married). . .

Jeez, I really shouldn't feel like this about my Dad, but he's just such a jerk sometimes! Seriously, he slapped me. _Slapped_ me. And then he _THREATENED _me. I don't know what on earth is wrong with that man, but he seriously needs to go to therapy or something. He has crazy anger management problems.

I sighed and glanced around my bedroom, attempting to calm myself down. My bed was still roughly made from when I woke up earlier that morning, so I threw off my shoes and laid on top of the comforter, venting mentally about my father.

Well, I guess I finally drifted off at about 5:30 or something, because it seemed like just a few seconds later my alarm started blaring some random song from my iPod. . . Did I not mention that I had one of those? Oh. . . oops. . . Well, I do and it started playing some song. . . I think it was by the Clash or the Sex Pistols or some other old punk band. I wasn't really paying attention because I was so angry about what had happened and the fact that I didn't even get to sleep in afterwards.

Why didn't I get to sleep in?

Well, you see, my mother and father, being the _amazing_ parents that they are, had left me in charge of my siblings while they went out to buy some furniture and do stuff (I think Mom actually had a sonogram scheduled for today, too). Sounds like fun, huh?

Right. Sure does.

Note the sarcasm.

I do believe I've already mentioned how annoying my younger siblings can be (especially Claire), so now, if you will, please imagine spending a _whole day_ with them; no parents and no friends to help, _and_ with having had little to no sleep during the night.

Sound like fun now?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Not to mention that the place where Dad had hit me last night was now a lovely yellowish-brown bruise. So, not only would I have to explain that to Mom, the little ones would be bugging me about it all day too. I could just imagine it.

_"Katherine! What happened?"_

_"Run into a light pole again, Kat?"_

_"Your boyfriend hit you, Kat?"_

The last one, of course would be from Claire, which would raise up about a million more random questions from them, mostly consisting of things like: _"Ooh! Who is he, Kat?"_ or my personal favorite; _"Katherine and _(Insert name here) _sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"_

This was, most definitely, going to be one of the longest days of my life.

So, after I convinced my eyes to open and my legs to hold up my body, I tip-toed to the bathroom, make-up in tow.

And about 30 minutes later, I discovered that it was pretty much impossible to cover a bruise with anything but stage make-up.

Oh great.

Today was going to be _a lot_ longer than I thought.

It was hard for me to sleep that night.

Everyone I knew always said I always wanted to be the hero, and I guess they're right. I mean, I can't help it, I just wanted to help her last night, you know, to go over there and give her dad a swift kick in the arse.

It was probably good that I didn't though. Lately, every time I've tried to help someone, things just seem to get worse; they end up getting hurt or. . . dying. . .

My mind wandered on that thought for quite a while that night. Every time I closed my eyes memories replayed like films on my eyelids; Cedric. . . Sirius. . . Dumbledore. . . I saw all of their faces again that night as if they were haunting me.

Then, when I finally did get to sleep, my dreams were filled with nightmares. All of them involving the death of someone important to me; Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. All of them. I stood there and watched them, writhing in pain on the ground in front of me, but I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything to help them.

And then I would wake up, covered in sweat and ready to scream or pee my pants- whichever came first. Then, after I had relieved myself and dried my face, I would glance at the light in _her_ window and wonder if she was okay.

When I had convinced myself that she _was_ alright, I would try sleep again; only to be plagued by the same nightmares- and the cycle would repeat itself.

So, after what was quite possibly the longest night of my life, daylight finally came through the window and I sat up; giving up on getting a peaceful night of rest. My glasses were still on and I swung my legs over the side of the bed and once again looked toward the girl's window.

_'Maybe I should go see her today. . .'_

Eight 'o' clock in the morning, and my parents had already left. Joey and Jane had already woken up and were begging me for breakfast.

Oh, and when I say begging, I mean pounding their silverware on the table like Neanderthals and chanting "PANCAKES!" constantly until I thought my eardrums were about to burst.

As I rushed to finish cooking the pancakes, and get Joey strapped into his high-chair (he always kicked and screamed until you finally got him in), _and_ get out drinks without spilling them all over the floor, the doorbell rang.

Groaning in frustration, I dropped the cup I was holding to the ground (Thank the Lord it was empty) and looked at my siblings. "Stay here. I'm going to go answer the door," I said. Jane nodded vigorously as I headed toward the door. "And don't break anything!"

The doorbell rang again and I threw it open quickly, hoping that they wouldn't have woken Claire up.

However, who was at the door scared me more than and angry Claire.

It was Harry Potter- the axe murderer.

I slammed the door in his face.


	5. Slamming Doors and Beating Hearts

**Disclaimer-** I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it.

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I know I'm not the most attractive guy in the world, but I didn't think I could scare a girl.

At least not two times in a row.

All I had done was knock on the door and she slammed it in my face.

Sighing and turning, I began to walk grudgingly back to the Dursley's, not even noticing the sound of the door opening again behind me.

"S-sorry," came her voice quietly. "I've had a rough night." I spun on my heel to see her small body leaning on the doorframe; arms folded across her chest shyly. I suppose I must have been smiling, because when she looked at me she smiled too; distorting the disgusting bruise on her cheek until she winced and the smile dropped.

"Yeah. . ." I said quietly, shyness taking over suddenly. I can distinctly remember swearing in my mind and thinking, _"Why do I decide to become a mute right when she decides to talk to me?"_

I suppose it may have just been because flirting and girls have never been one of my strong points. Sure, plenty of them liked me at Hogwarts last year, but that was because of all the publicity I had picked up again recently. A million galleons says any normal girl wouldn't have stayed with me for more than an hour after attempting to talk to me.

Then again, there was Ginny . . . just thinking of her makes me shiver. I really do love her, you know? She's absolutely beautiful and she's smart, and funny, and I love talking to her (it amazes me that I actually can, sometimes). Part of me still wishes that I hadn't broken it off, but I know I had to. If she had been hurt because of me I don't know what I'd do.

Of course, that doesn't matter now; it's not like I'll ever see her again anyway. I don't care what Ron and Hermione say, they're not coming with me to find the Horcruxes or to face Voldemort. That's something I have to do myself.

So, of course, those thoughts brought up a whole new subject: Why was I even trying to befriend _this_ girl anyway? It would just turn out the same as all of my other relationships; so why even bother? Until Voldemort is defeated, it's not like I can have anyone close to me anyway; they'd just end up getting hurt.

Pessimism had always been a friend of mine, and at that moment it was at one of its strongest victories over my thoughts. With all the pressure that had been put on me, I felt like I was about to burst. But when she started talking again, I immediately began to calm down. I don't know why it happened, but it did.

"So, do you want to come inside or something?" she asked, backing up and holding the door open, revealing a short hallway lined with several boxes. "I'm babysitting, so I totally understand if you don't want to." Her hair fell into her eyes as she let out a timid (and slightly frightened) laugh and kicked shyly at the floor.

* * *

_"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" _my subconscious screamed at me, _"HE'S A BLOODY AXE MURDER! HE'LL KILL YOU AND YOUR FAMILY, YOU IDIOT!"_

Luckily, throughout my sixteen years of life, I had learned to successfully ignore that subconscious and listen to my heart.

Not the _ba-bum ba-bum_ heart, the other one- the one in my brain.

And right now that heart was saying, _"He may be an axe murderer, but he seems nice enough to me."_

Yeah, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be saying that when he killed me later on.

His footsteps echoed slightly on the side of the house as he came closer to me. When his shadow covered the cement in front of me and I could see the tops of his shoes, my breath caught in my throat. Other than the singing birds and the sound of my siblings in the kitchen, silence seemed to overtake the entire planet. Needless to say, I was scared shitless.

"Sorry," he soon whispered, making my breathing come back. "I probably shouldn't. I know what everyone thinks about me around here." He pushed the hair from my eyes as I looked up at him. The feel of his slightly calloused fingers lingering on my cheek made me shiver and I pulled away from the touch quickly.

Breathing heavily, I managed to choke out a quick "alright" before turning around and slamming the door in his face again.

That poor door was slammed quite a few times that day.

* * *

And she did it again.

Slammed the bloody door right in my face.

Sadly, I would be getting used to that soon enough.

Once again, I trudged grudgingly across the street to where I (unfortunately) lived, venting about the pretty girl who lived across the street.

I didn't even know her name, and already she was frustrating me. I _was_ mostly to blame though, that slightly romantic action of pushing her bangs behind her ears would be enough to freak anyone out . . . especially if they already thought you were some kind of loon to begin with. So there I was, acting depressed about a girl I didn't even know, who probably hated me, and feeling sorry for myself, when a loud pop resounded down the entire street of Privet Drive.

* * *

Locking the door proved to be more difficult than I had previously thought. My hands were shaking wildly and my heart was beating as fast as the rapid beat in a techno song.

My hand clutched the fabric over the place where my heart was tightly in an attempt to calm myself. I had no idea guys could be so scary.

Out of all of the guys I had ever been around, only one of them made my heart beat that fast, and that was my father. Of course, that was usually from anger or fright, but it just proves my point. Sure, I was scared of the incredibly hot axe murderer; but not enough to give me a low-level heart attack.

Maybe it was the handsome danger of the boy, or just the fact that it was practically forbidden to be around him; but he made me feel frightened. . . in a good way. . .

Yeah, I don't completely understand either.

So, when I had finally almost got my heart rate back to normal, there was a loud sound outside that made me scream and fall to the floor.

It was probably just a car backfiring or something, but it scared the crap out of me.

* * *

This took me forever and a day to finish. Jeez. I feel so horrible that it took me so long! Plus it's insanely short! Sigh Oh well. Tell me what you think anyway!  
-Lindley 


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